


Blues Turn Gold

by asroarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Drabble, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Married!Bellarke, Miscarriage, POV Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-26 00:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18272573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asroarke/pseuds/asroarke
Summary: “I’m not sure anything is wrong,” he replies, but it sounds more like a question. “Everything is probably fine.”“I don’t like that ‘probably.’ What is going on?” Bellamy snaps, and for a brief second, Murphy looks like he is going to snark back at him. But he doesn’t. He just stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks down at the ground.“So, you know how you said that if any of us thought Clarke was acting off, we should tell you?” Bellamy’s stomach drops, and all he can do is nod. “Raven said she didn’t show up to work today.”Modern AU where Clarke has been struggling and Bellamy is relieved to find her happy for once.





	Blues Turn Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skypeople19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skypeople19/gifts).



> Myriah wanted a modern fic inspired by that scene in the trailer where Clarke is dancing around in that room full of paintings. I sort of combined it with a drabble idea I already had, so I hope that's okay. It didn't turn out 100% like you asked, but I kinda spaced out while writing this and it sort of took a form of its own.
> 
> Also, there is mention of a miscarriage in this. Mind that tag, please. I know that I struggle when it comes up in fics, and I don't want anyone to be triggered. This drabble isn't super dark. I don't think it would be triggering for anyone. But you never know, so here is the warning.

A loud knock at his office door breaks his concentration, and he slams his head onto the stack of essays. “What?” he grumbles into the paper.

The door creaks open, and he knows it’s Murphy based only on the way his boots squeak as he walks. Bellamy waits for Murphy to say something snarky, tease him about how messy his office is or call Bellamy out for taking his foul mood out on everyone else. It’s why Murphy is one of the few people he likes to be around these days. Everyone else walks on eggshells around Bellamy and Clarke nowadays, but Murphy doesn’t treat them any different.

So, when Murphy doesn’t make a joke or call him a dick, Bellamy’s head snaps up in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

Murphy’s lips press together as he shuts the door behind him. “I’m not sure anything is wrong,” he replies, but it sounds more like a question. “Everything is probably fine.”

“I don’t like that ‘probably.’ What is going on?” Bellamy snaps, and for a brief second, Murphy looks like he is going to snark back at him. But he doesn’t. He just stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks down at the ground.

“So, you know how you said that if any of us thought Clarke was acting off, we should tell you?” Bellamy’s stomach drops, and all he can do is nod. “Raven said she didn’t show up to work today.”

He jumps to his feet, already pulling his car keys out of the drawer and grabbing his phone from his bag. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself.

“I mean, when Raven called to check on her, Clarke said she had a little cold,” Murphy adds in.

“Clarke wasn’t sick this morning when I left this morning,” Bellamy sighs as he calls her. It has been more than a month since Clarke last skipped work. He had thought things were getting better. Ever since she joined that support group, she seemed to be on the up and up, which was such a relief for him after watching her struggle for months and feeling powerless to help her.

Bellamy gets her voicemail. “Fuck.”

“Do you want me to come with you or—”

“Nope. I’ve got this. Just tell Diyoza that I had an emergency.” Before Murphy can answer, Bellamy pulls his bag over his shoulder and marches out of his office.

Odds are that he will come home to find Clarke still in bed, possibly crying in the dark. But she always answers the phone when she has these kinds of days, with the exception of when they first started dating and Clarke was scared to open up to him about her anxiety and depression. But ever since he talked her through a panic attack two months into their relationship, Clarke has been open about all of it. Bellamy has been there through all the panic attacks and depressive episodes, listening when she wants to talk about it, talking nonsense when she wants to be distracted, holding her when she feels alone. He knows that Clarke can take care of herself, and if circumstances were normal, he probably wouldn’t rush home just because she wasn’t answering the phone.

But circumstances aren’t normal. It’s only been a few months since they lost the baby. And for a while there, it felt like he lost Clarke too. She wouldn’t speak. Just lied in bed for weeks. It didn’t matter what Bellamy said or did, he just couldn’t snap her out of it. The loss hurt too much. It took bringing her mother in and letting Abby Griffin annoy Clarke into getting up and taking a shower before Clarke would even come downstairs.

It has been a slow, painful process to get Clarke back on her feet. The support group helps. Their therapy sessions help too. Clarke doesn’t sob in the middle of the night and blame herself anymore. She gets out of bed on her own now. She shows up to work on time, she eats three meals a day without Bellamy making her, and she doesn’t rush to get back in bed as soon as she gets home every day. She isn’t up painting until two in the morning again just yet, but she is at least taking care of herself. It’s been bothering him a little that she hasn’t started painting again. But with how happy she’s been, Bellamy has expected that before he knows it, he’ll have to drag her out of the studio to make her get some sleep.

But Clarke not showing up to work or answering the phone feels like a huge step backwards.

He keeps calling her as he drives home, but each time it goes to voicemail. His stomach is in knots as he pulls into the driveway. Bellamy tries not to let his mind go to dark places, but it’s Clarke. His wife. His best friend. He isn’t sure he would survive it if something happened to her. Bellamy was devastated after the miscarriage. Heartbroken in a way that he couldn’t have fathomed before. But at least he had Clarke. She was all he had to hold onto after it happened. He needs her. Always has and always will.

The nerves set in as he steps into the house. “Clarke?” he calls out, his voice shaky. He doesn’t even wait for a response before he starts running up the stairs.

He turns into his bedroom, expecting to see a familiar lump in their duvet followed by Clarke pulling the covers over her eyes when he flicks the light on… only to find his bed empty. Well, not entirely empty. Clarke’s phone is on her pillow, which explains why she hasn’t been answering his calls. But if she isn’t in here, where is she?

Bellamy furrows his brows as he steps back into the hallway, and that’s when he sees light under the door of the studio. “Clarke?” he calls out again as he pushes the door open.

The sound that escapes his throat when he sees Clarke in her old overalls with her headphones in while mixing paint is almost a laugh. Like a quiet, relieved giggle. She’s painting again, and he can’t stop smiling. Clarke dances back toward the easel, her head bopping slightly to the beat. Then, she does this little spin and nearly trips over herself when she sees Bellamy leaning against the doorway.

“Hey, princess,” he chuckles as she yanks the headphones out of her ears.

“Why are you home so early?” she asks, her cheeks burning pink. The blush creeps onto her chest and neck too, the way it only does when she is truly embarrassed.

“Wasn’t feeling well,” he lies. But he should have known that saying that would cause Clarke to put the paintbrush aside so she could put her hand on his forehead. One day, she’s going to be one hell of a mom. When they’re ready to try again.

“You don’t feel warm,” she says, furrowing her brows.

“Maybe it was something I ate,” he lies again. Before she could follow up, he adds in, “So, you ditching work to paint?”

“I know,” she groans, turning back toward the easel. “I shouldn’t have. But I just got this idea, and the thought of sitting in a cubicle all day instead of being in here just sounded miserable.”

Bellamy steps up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist before pressing a kiss to her cheek. “How did you go from having perfect attendance in high school to ditching work to paint?” he teases before burying his face into her neck. He can feel her laugh bubbling up through her throat, and he can’t help but smile.

“I married you, that’s how,” she snorts. “You’re a bad influence.”

“I’m a history teacher. How am I a bad influence?”

“You’re ditching work right now, pretending to not feel well. And you’re leaving those poor kids to be taught by Murphy. Bad influence.” He gives her a soft bite, and her squeal quickly turns into a giggle.

“What’re you going to do about it?”

Clarke turns around in his arms and bops his nose with her paintbrush. “There,” she giggles, and he can’t even pretend to be annoyed. Her bright smile is too beautiful, her giggle too warm. She’s happy, and it’s the most incredible thing to see after everything that’s happened.

He eventually lets her go so she can get back to painting. But he lingers in the doorway, feeling lighter as he watches Clarke paint and dance to the music in her headphones. It’s a good day. And he has a feeling there are a lot more to follow.


End file.
